


Can't Be Bought

by sarah_x



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, sometimes porn is character building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14096553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarah_x/pseuds/sarah_x
Summary: “You gotta figure out what you want.”





	Can't Be Bought

Remy was no stranger to passion. Intensity was what excited him; the push-and-pull, light touches, lips lingering mere centimetres from an open, expectant mouth. Rogue had been a tease, the forbidden fruit, in more ways than just sexually. There had been others since, fleeting love affairs, strangers and friends who burned a hole in his bed.

Fantomex was a wholly different animal. He was ever-changing, expectant but resistant. Unrelenting in his reluctance.

_"You expect me to be interested in a two-bit thief and hedonist?"_

Except he was. But slowly: an appreciative smirk here, a shoulder brush there. Late nights in Monte Carlo, downing bottles of Pinot Grigio until the white-suited man’s outline became fuzzy at the edges.

_"We could make a habit out of this..."_

Soon enough Remy was kissing him and being kissed: soft gnawing at his jaw, lips across stubble. Peeling off Fantomex clothes step-by-step, hook-up by lazy hook-up. The white and black duster pulled off before Fantomex pinned him to the wall. The catsuit came a little later, tugging the zip down with his teeth, pushing Fantomex’s head into the pillow. The mask always stayed, pausing at the bridge of his nose, a constant when they were _envoyés en l'air_. It was comforting for Fantomex and added a strange air of mystery that stirred something wild inside Remy, so he allowed it.

Always so resistant. Resistant but not unwilling. Fantomex would wholeheartedly throw himself into Remy’s arms and onto his lips, would love being inside _him,_ making Remy squirm with pleasure. It was a different story when Remy was inside _that_ wicked man.

He pushed deeper and deeper inside Fantomex, hands resting on the hot skin of his hips. A few satisfied moans escaped his lips but he was listening out for Fantomex’s own muted groaning, what little hints of pleasure Remy could draw out of the other man. The room was humid, stifling in a way that was almost unbearable, but not enough to stop Remy from teasing this out of him. The surrender they both needed.

Fantomex’s hands wound tightly into the bed sheets. He was on his hands and knees, jaw set and every tanned and toned muscle on edge. Taut, like he was ready for a fight. He seemed to wrestle with himself against every moan, every shiver.

Remy pulled out halfway, only to plunge his hips into Fantomex’s once again. He was awarded by a squeak from Fantomex and felt the man quiver underneath him.

Remy leaned forward, coming to speak close to Fantomex’s ear, while dragging his nails lightly down the man’s back. “Is all this worth your ego?” Remy smiled, but cautiously, “‘Cause frankly it's killing the mood. _”_

Remy kissed the back of his neck while Fantomex murmured, trying to stop the words melting into a moan, “Afraid of a little hard work, Cajun?”

“I ain't the one who's afraid, _mon chéri_.” 

Remy reached out for him, hand wrapping around his cock. A gasp finally slipped from Fantomex’s lips. He unfurled a hand from the bedsheet, grasped at Remy’s bicep. The tight grip around his arm had him scowling.

“What’s wrong?” Remy purred, peppering his shoulder with little kisses, “What’s wrong? Oh, _mon chouchou,_ just let me help you.”

Remy dragged his hand lazily down Fantomex’s cock, pausing only to rub a thumb over the head. Fantomex moaned, tense body loosening up, but only briefly. Fantomex stroked him, a light touch up and down his arm. Fantomex turned his head, glancing back at Remy with a pained look.

His voice was quiet in the dimly lit room, “I - this isn’t - I’m just not, not made to be… controlled.”

Fantomex’s hand left Remy’s arm and Remy was sad for its absence. He crossed his arms and rested on Fantomex’s back, still connected to him but growing less concerned with getting himself off, “Who’s controlling? Tell me to stop, _mon ami,_ and I’ll stop.”

"No,” Fantomex’s voice was fast and firm, bitten out like a growl, “No, just… just keep going.”

“Not if you-”

“Shhhh,” Fantomex coed. He turned his head to Remy once more, an earnest look, on his face, “ _Please_.”

Remy began again but, while his body might have been reacting, his heart wasn’t in it. He got Fantomex off quickly and messily, the other man coming into his hand with a soft whine. After a few vehement thrusts, Remy followed, but with scarcely the same passion he’d begun with.

Remy was sat up in bed, cigarette hanging lazily from his mouth. He could feel a headache ebbing at his temples and his throat was dry. A glass of water was what he needed, not another smoke. Except smoking had become something of an after-sex ritual for him which was why most of his partners darted out of his apartment the second he lit up. He knew it was a bad habit but a calm settled over him when he smoked and it was easier to keep his emotions in check.

He was observing Fantomex from the bed, keen black-on-red eyes watching as the other man busied himself. He was between tasks, pulling on the white and black catsuit and reloading a pair of glocks. Anything, it would seem, rather than speaking to or even looking at Remy.

In the beginning, Fantomex had been distant. It had felt like every conversation they had was a detached, rapidly formed plan on how to defeat an enemy or else taunting or mocking each other. Over time, Remy had liked to think he’d gotten through to the man: or at least softened him a little. Those late nights and early mornings, on a lonely rooftop framed by a starry sky, or in a warm bed with a warmer body resting next to him. They’d talk, really talk, about the lives they’d led, the mishaps and missed connections. It hadn’t come easy to either of them but he’d thought he’d at least passed some sort of emotional milestone. Now it was like he was back to that awkward morning after their first hook-up.

Just as it felt like the silence would stretch on forever, Fantomex threw a glance at him as he clipped on his utility belt. Beams of sunlight stretched through a parting in the curtain of Remy’s bedroom and bounced off the silver ‘X’ belt buckle on Fantomex’s waist. For a man so insistent on operating alone, and so dismissive of the X-Men in general, he had an unusual habit of identifying with them. Remy could relate.

“You should get dressed,” Fantomex prompted, passing him his own black and pink one-piece. He kept his hands crossed behind his head, allowed Fantomex to awkwardly stand their with his offering until he finally settled it on the bed. A note of irritation entered his voice as he said, “We wouldn’t want to keep the ineffable Miss Frost waiting, no?”

“Emma can wait,” Remy replied. He moved the cigarette from his mouth to his fingers so a dry chuckle could leave his lips, “She’s used to that with her men.”

Fantomex didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached into his duffel bag on the dresser and threw something onto the bed. Remy leaned forward to discover a wad of cash resting between his legs.

He frowned, “What's this?”

“Compensation,” Fantomex mumbled, pulling the mask down over his mouth, “For last night.”

“I think you have me confused with some of your cheaper _companions,”_ Remy said, resting against the headboard once more and taking a drag of his cigarette, “Gambit can't be bought.”

“It's a gift,” Fantomex corrected quickly. “Take it.”

Another puff on the cigarette, “ _Non.”_

Fantomex threw his hands in the air before his heavy weight flopped onto the bed beside Remy, “For once in your life stop being such a petulant child and listen to me!”

“Oh, I've listened, _mon ami,”_ Remy said, gritting his teeth. His cigarette glowed pink at the edges, annoyance making him charge the little object. He stubbed it out in the ashtray before it could do any damage. “Like last night, when you said you weren't made ta be controlled then wanted me to keep going when your soul wasn't in it, _homme._ That ain't nice for either of us.”

Fantomex sighed, leaning back on his hands and staring at the ceiling, “It’s not… it isn’t like that. I… _enjoyed_ last night-”

“Don’t sound like it to me,” Remy hummed, “You gotta figure out what you want.”

Blue eyes snapped back to attention, meeting Remy’s from behind the mask, “I _know_ what I want. I wouldn’t be doing any of this, going against my biology, if I didn’t!”

Remy shuffled forward in the bed until his face was inches from the white mask. He felt Fantomex’s breathing hitch and smiled, “Oh, I see _,_ you want me but only when it's convenient for you, hmm? When you wanna be inside me?”

“No,” Fantomex sighed, gloved fingers catching Remy’s jaw as he stared intently into his eyes, “I mean, I adore being inside of you, you know that, _mon bébé._ I just… I have nanites in my brain that render me incapable of believing in anything greater than myself. Last night, it was so passionate but I - I couldn’t-”

“Couldn’t accept how good I was making you feel?” Remy replied, smirk growing, “I’m almost flattered.”

Fantomex shrugged, “Don’t take it personally.”

“Easy for you to say, _mon ami,_ ” Remy said, raising a brow, “I don’t like that, Jean-Philippe. It felt… wrong. I know its hard for you but please… don’t put me through that again.”

“Oh, _mon_ _chéri,_ _je suis désolé,_ ” Fantomex’s gloved hands moved to either side of his head, cradling him, thumbs rubbing comforting circles into his cheek, “I’ll try to be better. I will. For you.”

“For you, too,” Remy prompted, “How are you supposed to enjoy sex if you won’t allow yourself to?”

“Well, I can think of a few ways,” Fantomex replied, eyes flitting to Remy’s lips for a second, “I’ll settle for a kiss, though.”

“Will you?” Remy grinned. He tried to prize the hands off either side of his face, jokingly, to Fantomex’s titters of, _“Oui, non!”_ which had him laughing.

Fantomex finally removed his hands but Remy didn’t shift out of Fantomex’s space. He pushed the mask up to the bridge of his nose and leaned forward. Remy placed a hand on his chest as Fantomex pressed his lips to Remy’s. His hand tightened around the white and black leather as Fantomex melted against him, tongue slipping into his mouth and gloved hand running through his hair. Fantomex was hungry and eager to make it up to him, Remy could tell, from the fingers that barely ghosted his cheeks, a soft and hesitant touch.

Remy’s fingers linked with his, “You are forgiven. For now.”

Fantomex grinned. He slapped Remy’s leg lightly, “Right. Get dressed. I’d rather not have Miss Pryde phasing through the wall to get us.


End file.
